


Ice Blue Sky

by Thegreatsnotdragon



Series: The Epic Untitled Love Story [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Minor Character Death, Repression, The angst is strong in this one, relationship drama, toxic masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 23:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14779664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegreatsnotdragon/pseuds/Thegreatsnotdragon
Summary: Castiel does his best to help Dean through a tragedy, a tragedy that ends up putting great strain on their relationship.(This can be read as a standalone)





	Ice Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings - death of a parent, grief, depression, vague allusions to childhood trauma. This takes place in 2013 which probably sounds really weird if you just clicked on this, but will make sense if you know the whole scope of this series. Enjoy!

He’s staring at his hands. They’re shaking. Everything feels sort of fuzzy, like the world only exists on the periphery of his mind. He’s not sad, he’s not anything but numb. It’s not so bad. It’s almost familiar.

He hears footsteps, and in a detached kind of way registers his husband’s face in front of him. He hears his voice, like the sound of a voice streaming in through the tv when he’s not paying attention.

“Dean? Dean how are you-” Hands are on his face, asking him to react, to do something. He can’t. “Dean, you- You’re scaring me.”

He doesn’t realise he’s falling forward until Cas catches him and he registers the soft skin of Cas’s neck against his face. He inhales, and there’s something. That familiar smell, that tells him here, right here is a safe place to be. He inhales again and again, and then belatedly realises that he’s gasping against his husband’s neck. He feels arms holding him tight, and he’s vaguely aware of being maneuvered to lie down. He grasps around him, needing that small comfort of being able to bury his face in the crook of his Cas’s neck. Castiel seems to sense what he needs. Dean’s crying now. Maybe sobbing. Cas’s hand wrap around him in a tight hold, and his lips press soft kisses to Dean’s head. Dean hears words like _it’s okay_ , and _let it out_ , and _my love._ The feeling of numbness is wearing off, replaced with this gaping dark swirl of sadness and anger. And it’s too much. He closes his eyes, and focuses on Cas’s calm and steady breathing. He’s never wanted sleep more. Cas knows, because he always knows. When he speaks it’s in a soft, calm voice, never wavering;

 

_I have desired to go_

_Where springs not fail,_

_To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail,_

_And a few lilies blow._

 

_And I have asked to be_

_Where no storms come,_

_Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,_

_And out of the swing of the sea._

 

Dean’s thoughts get hazy, as Cas carries on, and his words turn into pictures in Dean’s mind. He drifts off imagining the field, the storm, and the sea.

 

When Dean wakes up it’s getting dark outside. He’s still got Cas’s arms around him, and the tightness of that hold tells him that his husband is awake.

“What time is it?”

“A little after seven.”

“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Dean scrambles to sit up, a sense of guilt and urgency coming over him.

“What about the kids, and dinner and-”

“They’re with Jody and Donna.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good.” He means it, but it doesn’t assuage that feeling of shame in the pit of his stomach. Cas had to pawn their kids off to take care of Dean because Dean can’t fucking keep it together. “But aren’t they upset? We should be with them, I can handle it-”

“Dean.” Cas’s hands are on his face, forcing him to meet that steely blue gaze. “Breathe.”

Dean takes a stuttering breath. Cas nods approvingly and his hands caress the sides of Dean’s face.

“They aren’t upset, because I haven’t told them yet. And even if I had… Dean they… They barely knew your father.”

He knows it’s true but it still hurts. Because now they never will.

His eyes fill with tears, and inside him the grief wars with his need not to do this, not break down into a worthless heap again. He lets Cas lead him downstairs and then forces himself to eat the reheated lasagna from last night, and afterwards he forces himself to get in the shower. Cas hovers, like he tends to do when he’s concerned. But at least he respects the closed bathroom door. And under the spray, Dean lets himself break down again. His hand grasping the slippery tiles, he cries so violently he feels like he’s gonna puke. _There,_ he tells himself, as he steps out onto the bath mat. _That’s enough_.

 

Two weeks later, they’re packing to go to Lawrence for the funeral, and Dean is stressed and frustrated, because wrangling two teenagers to be packed and ready at the same time is a real headache. And for some goddamn reason he decided to let out his frustrations by picking a fight with Cas.

“Dean, that’s isn’t what I meant. You know that.” His tone is patient, and it just pisses Dean off more.

“Cas I get it, you hated the guy, but can you maybe save it for after he’s in the ground? I really don’t need this right now.” He folds another shirt and dumps it in the open suitcase.

Cas comes up behind him and runs a warm hand up his back. “Dean, could you slow down for a minute?”

Dean needs to get away from under that hand. That hand is too tempting, it wants him to lean into the flood, but he doesn’t know how to without getting carried away by it. Dean’s stayed on his feet throughout the whole thing, he hasn’t missed a day of work, and he makes dinner every night like usual. He’s done everything he’s needed to do, and right now he needs to get this suitcase packed, so they can get on the plane, so he can bury his father. And that hand is soothing him, coaxing the dark swirl of emotion back to the surface again, which _isn’t_ what he needs.

He moves away, to open the dresser and take out enough socks for the duration they’ll be there. “Sorry.” He says. “I’m just… Stressed out. I know that’s not what you meant.”

Cas moves closer again, this time stepping in front of him, and bringing his hands up to gently caress Dean’s jaw. “I know you’re stressed. I can handle this, why don’t you go relax for a few hours?”

Dean again has to resist the urge to lean into him. “Nah I’m good. It’s faster this way.”

He pulls away to go plant all the pairs of plain black socks in the suitcase. He hears Cas let out a soft sigh behind him.

 

The funeral passes without a hitch. They stay at Bobby and Ellen’s, because Dean just can’t be in that house. Not without his father. It’s like a haunted house. His mom died there, his dad died there, and his childhood died there. And that fucking house is still standing, like it’s taunting him.

 

That night he kisses Cas as hungrily and desperately as he ever has.

“I… I need you.” He rasps, feeling like he’s seconds away from breaking down. “Cas, please.”

“What do you want?”

Gentle fingers brush his hair back.

“I…” He’s always had trouble asking for it. But he needs this. He buried his father today. He needs this. “Can you..?”

Cas doesn’t need to hear the words to understand. “If that’s what you want.” He says softly, kissing Dean’s brow.

“I do. I… Please. Please, I need… I need you.” _You’re the only thing that makes it any better, you’re  the only thing that makes sense right now_.

“Okay.” Cas says gently, sliding down the bed to access his bag.

It’s so slow it’s almost torturous. But it’s so good. While Cas moves in sync with him, hitting that spot deep inside him over and over. While Cas kisses him, with such fervor because he knows that this, right now, is giving Dean what he needs.

 

They go back home, and Dean expects everything to return to normal. Really, their lives are exactly the same, except for the fact that John is dead. And John was barely a part of their lives as it stood.

Everything does go back to normal, but Dean doesn’t. He goes to work, like he always does, he spends time with Cas, Noah and Haley. But he feels somehow… Separated. His life may not look extraordinary from the outside, but just being around his family used to make him feel like the luckiest man on earth. Hearing Cas laugh and seeing his nose crinkle up. Watching their kids bicker, because it’s the sibling way of saying they love each other, it used to fill him with warmth. Now, when he sits down at the dinner table, he feels like he’s watching them through a glass panel. Like he’s there, but they’re somehow still separated from him. He’s sitting at the table with his family, but he’s alone.

And Cas’s eyes are always on him. They’re on him and they get more and more concerned as the weeks drag on. Cas tries to touch him, to talk to him, to prod at the wound, but Dean doesn’t let him. He knows he’s just gotta push through this, and Cas isn’t helping. Because when Cas tries, it just makes him feel worse. It’s a reminder that he’s letting his husband down, letting his family down, because he can’t pull himself together. Because he’s like a dark cloud hovering over their house, drowning out the daylight.

Even their kids have noticed. He sees the glances at the dinner table, the furrowed brows when he spaces out. They can tell he’s not really here anymore. All it does is add to his shame. Just another reminder that he’s failing, as a father and a husband by being like this. So fucking useless. Dean’s been ashamed of a lot of things in his life. But the fact that his fucking mood is so out of control that his children are worried about him might take the cake.

 

They haven’t had sex since the night of the funeral. That piece of mattress between them feels like a wide chasm. He can feel Cas reaching out, but his shame is too deep to cross it. Because Cas deserves so much better than this. So much better than a husband who can’t even function like a normal fucking human being. Whose smiles are all fake now, and who can’t even get up the energy to fuck him anymore. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to reach back, he doesn’t get to, because he doesn’t fucking deserve to have Cas right now. He doesn’t deserve to have Cas hold him or comfort him, not until he can get his shit together.

So he stays on his side. Cold.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's a continuation to this story, but I split them into two cause I feel like they're two different stories, and I love a good bleak ending now and then. I don't know when I'll post that, there could very well be other entries in this series in between, cause that's the kind of fun shit you can do when you write a series that's out of order. The poem is Heaven-Haven by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Thank you for reading, if you have any thoughts tell me in the comments. Love to all.


End file.
